Dick spends his whole day messing around and wasting time. He thinks, 'Okay, Jerel said after five. And I don't want to seem like I'm really desperate to talk to him again, just in case'. He decides to wait until six to call Jerel. He lasts until half-five.

Jerel collapses on his sofa the moment he gets home at four-thirty, exhausted from being on his feet all day. He has a quick nap, just twenty minutes, then he's up and changing clothes, ready to go when Dick calls at five.

Five comes and goes, and Jerel takes his phone around with him as he gets himself a glass of water. Something he can easily pour down the sink when he has to go out.

He finishes the water, even drinking very slowly, and settles into a staring contest with the phone.

And he nearly falls off his seat in surprise when it finally rings. "Hello?"

Dick's heart thuds in his chest and he frowns. He just answered the phone, body, he thinks. Shut the hell up. "Hey," Dick answers. "It's Dick. We talked yesterday, remember? I didn't know if you were serious about the drinks tonight, but I figured there was no harm in asking."

"I know a few," Jerel assures him. He conveniently doesn't mention how he'd been going over and over all the bars he knew all day, trying to think of the right one. "You in the mood for class or comfort?"

"I'm easy," Dick says, and can't help smiling. "I don't mind paying a little extra, though. So pick whatever you like. I kind of want to be able to talk, though, so maybe not a club." He pauses. "Later for clubs."

Jerel's body aches from long hours of work, but it's like all that vanishes when Dick mentions hanging around 'til clubs open. "D'you like beer? Grace's Tavern is supposed to be the best bar in Philly. Got this fifty year old beer cooler that, I swear to God, is better than the fridges they build today."

Dick lies back on his couch while he talks, like a freaking teenage girl. His brain isn't letting him away with that without feeling a little silly, but he's shrugging it off pretty well. "I like beer. Kinda a mixed blessing that I don't get drunk at all, but I still like it. Where's that? Will I meet you there?"

Jerel immediately looks up the bar on his phone and texts the address to the number that just called him. Then he saves the number to his phone. There's three contacts, now; Mitz, Ace and Dick. He spares a thought for Ace, and as he leaves his apartment, he calls her to tell her that he'd be late, tonight--maybe really late.

(Aw, Jerel, so considerate.) Dick leaves a note for when Bruce gets up for the night and flicks a very pleased-with-himself salute at Alfred on his way out. He takes the motorbike. Maaaaybe to impress Jerel a bit.

(Well, she is--or was--a crazy serial-killing vampire, so.) Jerel will definitely be impressed by the bike. He has a little junk bucket that he drives around, but the sight of Dick on that bike will do funny things to his stomach that he will flatly deny.

(That...is a good point.) Dick takes off his helmet after pulling up and parking, and shakes out his helmet hair. He's perfectly aware what this does to some people, and he knows he's trying it on Jerel. He just doesn't know if it'll work. So he plays it casual and waves before getting off and walking up.

Jerel's fingers twitch with the urge to sink his hands into Dick's hair again, and he clenches them into fists to get control. Honestly, man, you're acting like a lovestruck teenage girl, get a grip. He grins as Dick walks up to him. "That's a nice ride."

Dick looks back at the bike, misty eyed. "Thanks. She's my special girl," he says fondly. "Got her for my eighteenth. So, have you been waiting long? It took me a minute to figure out where I was going."

"Nah, I just got here." Jerel points down the street to where he's parked. "Wish I could've given you directions, but, not knowing where you were coming from, I probably woulda just got you even more lost," he jokes.

Dick shrugs. "I never really got the chance to pick a favorite drink. I guess beer? There's always a bottle or two in the fridge back home, anyway. My va--" Dick stops himself. He speaks quietly enough that only Jerel should be able to hear him. "Sorry. How open are you about the knowing of -" he waves his fingers. "- spooky stuff?"

Dick follows him and sits beside Jerel. "That's cool. I meant, just, you. Some people don't like to talk about it all, that kind of thing. Better to find out early, right? Before I go running my dumb mouth and offending someone. Or, worse; outing them." He winces.

Jerel takes a deep breath. "Well. I spent some time in a half-way house. So I don't like to talk about it with strangers, in case someone sends me back there. But I figure--well, you're a wereleopard. I could out you as quick as you out me." He shrugs. "We can talk openly, I reckon."

Dick's chest gets little tight at the idea of Jerel in one of those places. "Sorry to hear that," he says, lamely. "But, it's good to hear. Hate that tiptoeing crap. I was just gonna say, y'know, that my vampire - which I guess is what you could call him - likes to keep a stocked fridge. That counts beer. Not very good beer. So this," he says as the beers are put down in front of them. "Is probably gonna knock my socks right off."

Jerel grins. "And this isn't even the top of the line stuff." He points to the top shelf, where there's all the premium beer. "Philly's got a quarter of a million bars, and I'm not even joking. This place loves its booze." He takes a drink of his beer and sighs. Yeah, that's what he's been aching for all day. "So are you a pomme de sang?"

Dick does the same and closes his eyes for a second, savoring the taste. He has got to tell Alfred about the distributors here. "Nah. Well, I help out," he says, taking another sip. That sigh Jerel let out got his brain whirring in ways that are just obscene, which is odd. Usually it takes a noise or two for that to happen. "But Bruce has got himself a servant. He took me in when my parents died, see. The circus didn't want a tiny were running around without elders, so I had to go somewhere." Dick blinks. He doesn't always feel okay with sharing that.

(Trying to figure out a way to keep Bruce's fame here. I'm thinking he would probably be pretty well known in vampire rights groups, and helped out with the publicity when they cam out of the coffin? Something like that. Which would mean that Dick and others have their fingers in the various groups applicable to them. Dick'd probably be known to outspoken weres, and around Gotham, but pretty underground here?)

"I'm sorry," Jerel says after a moment. "That must have been difficult, your life changing so much like that. It's good you had somewhere to go. The state system isn't great to weres." He quickly clarifies; "Some people I met in the house were from foster homes and orphanages."

(That sounds absolutely perfect. Probably the higher ups know who they are, but the regular guys, lower down in the ranks, don't pay much attention to it unless they need help from the groups. And Jerel's never wanted help, so he wouldn't know about them much.)

"Yeah," Dick shrugs. "But it's getting better. People are standing up, making themselves heard. I do what I can to help out whenever. But I didn't have it so hard. And I was pretty young, so it was easy enough to adjust to the life." Dick takes another swig. "Actually," he smiles, laughing at himself but rolling with the urge to be honest. "It wasn't easy at all, it was hell. But it got better."

(Excellent! And it would explain why Dick was so willing to give up the conversation with Jerel to meet the other weres and why Romana wasn't completely against him being there.)

"That's what they say," Jerel agrees. And he has to admit, since hanging out with Dick, his beast is quiet and peaceful within him. He hasn't got a stress headache from fighting its urges, he's not feeling sick from the alcohol--maybe he's finally adjusting.

Dick smiles into his beer. He likes being able to talk about this stuff without having to sell an idea to someone, without having to promise that it gets better and promise he'll try his best to make it so. He likes helping, but he gets scared when he thinks of all the ways it could go wrong. Admitting to it not being easy like this, for the first time in a long time, calms him down and relaxes something inside him he didn't know needed relaxing.

"So what do you do? For a living, I mean," Jerel says. "You said you do what you can to help. What's that mean?" And he wants to ask why Dick's here in Philly, where he's from, who this Bruce guy is, if Dick's seeing anyone... he barely manages to bite down on it all by taking another swig of his beer. He's just being friendly, he tells himself. That's all this is.

Dick sits back. "Well, I was a cop for a while," he starts. "But I got booted for being a were, which didn't go down too well with me or Bruce, so there was this giant lawsuit. Eventually I got into trying to help out people that couldn't afford the kind of lawyers I got on my side. Technically I'm allowed to go back to the force, and I loved the work I was doing then, but it feels like I'm helping people more like this. And, well. My people, you know? So I do a lot of stuff. Most of it is public speaking," Dick grins. "Which works out well for me, with this gob. What about you?" Dick feels the same. He's going to give it at least another beer before he starts grilling Jerel. Though really all he wants to know is if he's seeing anyone.

"Wow," Jerel says admiringly. "You're really active in the community, huh?" He's avoiding telling Dick what he does, but it was a direct question, so he sighs. "I'm a cleaner at a hospital. Nothing exciting."

Dick looks at Jerel for a long moment. "Active decision?" he asks, and doesn't really try to make it seem casual. "I mean, is it your calling to be a cleaner, would you clean anywhere, or are you in the hospital for a reason?" He's seen a lot of people take bad jobs just to be in a position closest to what they're allowed, as weres, to have.

(A little bit of godmodding there, I'm sorry, but Dick is observant and well meaning and BEAST CONNECTION and *handwave*)

Dick wants to touch Jerel. So he does, and lays a hand on Jerel's arm. "You know, you can be. If you still want to be." Dick honestly believes this and looks at Jerel, /willing/ him to believe as well.

Something nervous inside Jerel settles at the touch, but he still sighs. He can't meet Dick's eyes. "Nope. Can't be digging around inside someone's body or brain when I could infect them. I wouldn't do this to someone else. Maybe if I only wanted to be a GP, then I could." He shrugs, and shrugs it off at the same time. "At least if I'm hanging around a hospital I can still talk to patients, you know? Still be learning, even if I can't be doing."

"It's a step," Dick agrees, and doesn't take his hand away. "But you could be a doctor. Does that mean you want to be a surgeon? Digging around inside people," Dick repeats. "Anyway. There are hospitals you could work in. A lot of human doctors don't want to root around in a were body, you know. Just because we heal faster than normal doesn't mean..." Dick shrugs as well, and finally takes his hand away. "Well. If there's anything you ever need doing, just ask. I could probably help out. I'd like to."

"I was going to specialise in neurosurgery," Jerel admits. He'd never even told Mitz that. And he'd never really thought of being a were doctor. "Why would--I mean, thanks. I'll keep that in mind." He feels a little disappointed at the loss of Dick's hot-blooded hand on his arm. It's nice, touching other weres. Humans are cold.